If You Jump, I Jump
by Mrs. Peeta Mellark 74
Summary: AU: At the age of 101, Katniss Mellark is on her deathbed. In her last living moments, she reminisces of the time she met Peeta Mellark on the ill-fated Titanic.
1. Ocean Blue

**A/C: I really couldn't stop myself from writing this fanfiction. I saw Peeta in Jack, and Katniss in Rose. I want to stay canon with the characters' personalities, but there will be changes. This isn't really a story for Katniss & Gale shippers, this is purely Everlark. I suggest Everthrone shippers not to read this :P **

**I'm keeping this fic T for now, but I might raise it to M. I will be sure to place a disclaimer if there's a mature-rated chapter.**

 **In case I forget, all property belongs to its rightful owners. I do not own The Hunger Games or the Titanic.**

* * *

 _\- Present -_

Katniss Mellark is now 101 years old.

She focusses her vision on her wrinkly, pale hands. They shake without any concious effort. She then peers over to the mirror in front of her, observing her dull, white hair knotted into a limp bun. She gingerly touches her thin, dry lips. But as she sets herself onto her bed, she can't help but to notice her silver eyes. The eyes that haven't changed after all these years.

That was something he would certainly say, she thought with a ghost of a smile.

She stretches out her legs, but then a pang of pain rushes up her leg. Her bones hurt. She hates complaining about her arthritis to her caregiver, especially since she is so sweet and kind. She honestly doesn't want to become into a burden on these people. Not that she already is.

But they won't have the burden any longer. She's dying. She knows she is, despite her doctor constantly insisting her health is fine. However, she is getting those dreams more frequently. Not the bad ones, but the good ones. The ones that make her smile when she wakes up. And when she tells this to her doctors and the people at the elderly home, they tell her to stop being so pessimistic. But what they don't understand is that she doesn't _mind_. She lived a long life, full of adventure and action. And she fulfilled her promise already - except the "marrying another man and having tons of children" part - so she can't wait until she can meet him again. She wants him to know that she always waited for him. That she missed him for every second of her life. There were times she wanted to take one too many of her cholesterol pills, or to step onto the street while traffic was raging on, but she stayed strong. She had to keep his last dying wish. So she did.

Peeta Mellark was a man like no other. A man who shaped her into who she is today. A man who her heart belongs to. A man who she loves.

And she met him on the Titanic.

* * *

 _\- 83 years ago -_

 **KPOV**

"Mother, I can't marry him," I blurt. I bite my lip, focussing my gaze onto my shoes. I really shouldn't have brought this up since we are metres away from our means of moving to America. There is no backing out now. But this conversation was a long time coming, and it is one necessary to make. I can't live my life with a lie. And I can't live with Gale Hawthorne. My mother, of all people, should know that. She certainly cannot force her to marry a man I don't love. Or can she?

Mother whips her head to face me. Her hair is styled strategically to frame her face, and she is wearing one of the only exquisite hats she owns. It honestly makes my blood boil of how haughty and insensitive Mother has become since Father and Prim died. It seems their deaths took no toll on her life at all. On top of that, it is only recently that she has become part of the upper-class circle. But the way my mother is acting it's as if she has belonged from the very beginning. "Katniss, I thought I already made it clear that the wedding is already happening. We have already sent out all the invitations! Imagine what a mockery we will become if we cancel the wedding," she says with a scowl. She turns her back to me, and calls one of the servants to load our luggage. Then, she grasps onto my arm and pulls me to her side. "Gale Hawthorne is a fine, handsome boy. You will _learn_ to love him."

I wriggle away from her grasp, placing a few feet distance between us. I avoid her gaze, and instead focus my attention on the massive ship in front of us. The Titanic. The designer stated that God himself couldn't sink it. It was built with strong, sturdy metals and machinery. The interior is supposedly the most splendid in the world of ships. And apparently there's a pool in it as well.

Prim would have loved to be here. She would have been at awe of the sight.

We enter the ship upon presenting our tickets. It is splendid indeed. The carpets are rich and lush, a deep colour of maroon sprawled beneath us. The chandelier above us is grand and luminous. I was too engrossed at the view that I didn't notice Gale behind me. "My, my Katniss. Aren't you looking lovely today?" His voice startles me, and I immediately blush a tomato red. I shake my head vigorously and stalk ahead of him, currently not in the mood of making pleasantries. What ceases to amaze me is he does not realize that I am not like other girls in the upper class. I do not giggle or melt over silly compliments. I do not fantasize of an abundance of dresses, shoes, and jewellery. I am not polite or shy. And I am certainly not a perfect match for Gale Hawthorne. Sure, he is handsome and tall. He is wealthy. He also knows how to initiate a conversation and always seems to say the right thing. He is basically everything Mother would love to have as a son-in-law. Hell, I'd think she would _marry_ him if he were a couple decades older.

But I don't care if he's handsome, likeable, or rich. I don't love him.

* * *

 **PPOV**

I slam my cards down, and I allow a maniacal smile creep onto my lips. "You son of a bitch, we're going to America!" Finnick jumps from his seat, engulfing me into his arms. We laugh hysterically, bouncing around and about in the bar. The tattooed, bald men throw the tickets in the air, murmuring obscenities underneath their breaths as they stomp away from us. We catch them, hooting gleefully as we imagine our lives in America.

Then suddenly, one of bartenders behind the counter yells, "You boys gotta hurry if you wanna make it in time. Five minutes before the ship leaves!"

Finnick and I exchange looks, and we start out the door. We sprint past the road, across the side-walk. We shuffle through the bodies on the dock, and forge up the ramp leading to the ship. As promoted, the Titanic is masterfully built. It's a large vessel, probably carrying thousands and thousands. I wonder if it is as magnificent on the inside as it is on the outside. There's only one way to figure out.

Shoving the tickets into the security guard's face, we scurry into the third-class portion of the ship. There's bodies pressing on us from every side, loud screams and crying from tired parents and children, but I can't complain. We are on the greatest ship in the entire world. "Hey Peet, let's go to the deck!" Finnick says. I follow him along, and we are soon entranced by the wonderful view of the sea. The intoxicating smell of the seawater surrounds us, and the sun warms the crowns of our heads. I hurry over to the railings, and wave at the crowd beneath us. Of course I'm not waving at anyone particular, I have no family members or friends awaiting me, but I cannot miss out on the fun. Then soon, the horn blares and the ship jerks forward. Finnick and I cheer as we head off into an abyss of clear ocean blue.

I climb over one of the rails, and spread out my arms. "I'm the king of the world!" I scream on the top of my lungs. The cool air surrounds my entire body, and I feel like I'm flying. Finnick laughs, joining along. We spend a good five minutes laughing and screaming, until I feel someone tap on my shoulder. I remove myself from the railings, and I tug Finnick down also.

"Excuse me sir, but you are causing a disturbance for the other passengers," one of the workers says condescendingly. He scans our appearance, and I swear he lifts his nose at us. My heart nearly plummets as I watch the snooty man walk away, but then my eyes flit over to someone off into the distance.

It's hard not to notice. Her eyes are an enchanting silver. Her dark, raven hair falls effortlessly down her shoulders. And the dress she is wearing hugs her in all the right places. And in all honestly, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Sure, I've met pretty girls. Fooled around with some. But no one quite captivates me quite like this girl. And I have no chance with her. She is holding hands with a tall, good-looking older guy, perhaps her husband or lover. And even if she were single, she would never love me. She is obviously upper-class, based on her luxurious outfit, whereas I can barely get by. It was merely by luck that I'm even on this ship in the first place. She certainly wouldn't have any interest in me. However, I cannot help to think that she actually looked at me.

Finnick, his green eyes full of playfulness and mischievousness, jabs me in the arm. "Forget about it, boy," he says with a laugh, shaking his head disapprovingly. "He'd beat your ass if you keep looking at her in that way." I allow my eyes find the floor, and I try to forget about the girl with the silver eyes.

* * *

 **KPOV**

Gale was talking about our wedding arrangements, but I cannot say that I was paying any attention. Instead, I was bewitched by a particular boy. He was wearing faded brown pants, with a loose, white button-down shirt. It was clear to see that he is not exactly in our social standings. But when I looked into his eyes, the ones as blue and clear as the ocean, I knew he would be on my mind more than I would like.

It's wrong. I'm supposed to honour my husband, remain obedient to him. I shouldn't be ogling other men, especially in his very presence. It doesn't matter if we're just engaged, it's not right. So when the boy removes his gaze, so do I. "Katniss, are you feeling alright?" Gale asks in what seems to be fake concern. His eyebrows knit together exaggeratedly, and his frown is too deep.

"Feeling fine. Just a bit tired," I say quietly, looking away from him.

Gale nods. "Well, it has been quite an eventful day. How about I take you back to your quarters? I'll see you at supper."

I nod. We return back to the hall, and we find my mother and Gale's parents in the lounge. They are sipping on what seems to be tea, and probably chatting about politics or weddings. I try to avoid speaking with the adults by taking the other hall, but then Mother calls. "Katniss! Come meet Mr. Heavensbee!"

I scowl. I spin on my heel, and I stalk towards the adults. It's hard to force a smile on my face when I would like nothing else but to escape. "Katniss, this is Mr. Plutarch Heavensbee. He is the individual who designed this astounding ship," Mother explains with a too wide of a smile.

"Mr. Heavesnbee. Quite an honour," I say, taking a dip of my head.

The old, bellied man with greasy hair gives me a smile. Mother turns her back to me, and explains, "Katniss will be marrying the Hawthorne's eldest."

Heavensbee nods as he gives me a look. "Richard's son? Yes, fine boy."

I try to hide my cringe by plastering a fake grin. "Gale, indeed," Mother says. "It would be a pleasure if you and the wife could attend their wedding. It will be taking place this April, in a nice Maryland banquet hall. I will be sure to send the details very soon."

"Ah, I wouldn't miss it," he says as he takes a glance at his watch. "Oh, look at the time. It was nice meeting you, Katniss." Heavensbee then lifts my arm, and brings my hand to his lips. He places a light kiss, and I have to swallow a lump in my throat to prevent myself from choking. The man then leaves, and I am left with Mother and her other acquaintances.

My heart thumps against my chest. I blink back the tears, and bite down my lip to prevent my mouth betraying me. It's like I'm screaming in a crowded room and no one is paying attention to me. Everyone seems to have their own plans for me, but I have no say in them. Mother continues to ignore me to speak with another lady, but I cannot wait any longer. So I tug on Mother's sleeve, trying to divert her attention to me. "I need to speak with you, Mother," I say quietly. My voice is thick, and I hope I don't sound as pathetic as I think I do.

Mother nervously laughs as the rest of the group quiets down. "The girl is a bit sick. I'll come back soon after settling her in," she explains to the rest of the women. They give her a nod of the head, agreeing to take me to my room. I give small smiles to everyone, bidding quiet goodbyes.

Once the door closes, I do not hold back. "Mother, please listen to me!" I yell.

Mother looks at me, and sets herself on top of the bed. "Okay, you have my attention."

"I can't marry Gale," I say. "I don't love him. No, forget about _love_ , I cannot tolerate him. He's rude, arrogant, and insincere. I cannot bear to live my entire life with him, and you have no right to force this upon me!"

My chest is heaving, and I'm at the verge of tears. Mother gets up from the bed, and her eyes are full of anger. "This marriage is not only about you, but about all of us. You have the responsibility of persevering your Father's name, because of course you are the _last_ of his kindred. Do you not have any respect for your father? Your _mother_? This marriage will help us improve our status and family name. Why can't you understand that this is our only chance for a better future?"

I shake my head vigorously. "Father wouldn't have wanted this. He would _hate_ you for making me marry this man."

Mother takes my arms roughly, and shakes me. "This is very selfish of you, Katniss! I cannot-"

I pull away from her grasp and scream, " _You_ are being selfish! How could you move on so easily when Prim and Father died only two months ago? Why did you change once you got all that inheritance and insurance money? It has always been about you! Your reputation! Your wealth!" Then suddenly, an open palm strikes my cheek. The impact sends me to my knees, and I feel fresh, salty tears run down my face. The hot, sizzling sensation throbs my cheek, which is certainly red by now. I am left alone when I hear the door slam shut.

I can't do this any more. My kind, good-natured father is dead. Sweet, gentle Prim died along with him. And now Mother is forcing me to marry Gale. Of course, I will be insanely wealthy, but will my entire life just be attending parties in nice dresses and faking smiles? Surely, Gale doesn't love me. I won't receive any moral or emotional support from him, let alone love or care. I never was one who craved emotional attachment, but I am loyal to those I care about. And I like honesty and genuity. But he probably has his own agenda for the marriage. And I certainly don't love him. I mean, how could do I? No amount of money or expensive jewellery could have change that. Not even my mother's emotional manipulation. I am simply a piece in my mother's games, and I cannot be used by her any longer.

But there's no way out. There's not a lot of opportunities for a young women like me in this world. I don't have much education, I am not enrolled in any college or university. I can't get a job. I don't have any family or friends I could live with. The only way I can survive in this world is by allowing myself to be controlled by my mother. If I choose to disobey her, she will disown me. Marrying Gale is no longer an option.

I don't want to live this kind of life. I just want to be with Prim and Father, wherever they may be.

The racking sobs raw my throat, and I am struggling to breathe. I get up from the floor, and I drag myself out of the suite. My feet lead me up the stairs, finding themselves at the deck. I stare out in the ocean, smelling the crisp and salty air and relishing the feeling of the wind gushing against my face. It is quiet, and the sun is setting. There are only a few people around, but they are on the opposite end of the ship. I wouldn't mind dying out here. My bare feet step across the deck, until I'm at the edge of the railings. I lean over, staring into the ocean. I wonder how deep it is. So I toss one of my legs over the railings, steadying myself with my hands, and then my other leg joins it. Soon I'm at the other end of the railing, and I sense death waiting at its corner. Closing my eyes, I imagine Father's and Prim's faces. They are smiling, and I swear they are beckoning me to jump.

"Don't do it!" someone yells. I snap my head to the side, and I see the blonde boy watching me with a concerned expression on his face. It's the same boy with the crystal blue eyes, I saw staring at me a few hours ago. The loud noise of the waves splashing make it difficult to decipher his words, but I still manage to hear, "Please, come back!"

"Leave me alone!" I scream. "Mind your own business!" My hair is flying wildly, and it sprawls against my face. I almost toss it back over my shoulder, but then I remember the situation I am in.

Do I really want to jump?

The boy comes closer, and takes my arm. "I can't let that happen, Miss."

Tears pool my eyes, and I try to blink them away. "Leave me alone," I repeat, my voice now hoarse.

"If you jump, I jump," he says. He grasps onto my arm tightly, refusing to let go.

I shake my head. "Don't be stupid. You will die. Leave me be, for God's sake!" I avoid his gaze, and I stare off into the ocean. The moon now appears in the horizon, bright and full. Its reflection shines in the water, and I cannot help to think what a wonderful place to die.

His voice snaps me back to reality. "I'm a pretty good swimmer," he says loudly, competing the wind's and the wave's noises. "And it's awfully cold down there. I wouldn't want to experience a frost bite, and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want to either."

I look at him incredulously. "Take my hand," he insists, locking his blue eyes with my own. And once again, his gaze has entranced me.

I don't know what comes over me, but I take it. He pulls me over the railings, and I fall right on top of him. I notice how firm and muscular his body is, along with his broad shoulders. But then a laugh bubbles from his chest, so I sheepishly lift myself from him. I murmur an apology, and I begin to leave with my face burning. This is what I might consider as one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Oh, how pathetic must he think I am? Poor little damsel in distress. She is constantly surrounding by riches and fortune, while other people are struggling to get by. Did she break a nail? Drop tea on her new dress? Paper-cut? He must think very lowly of me, considering what hardships he must endure. But then, he suddenly calls me. "Wait!"

I turn my head. He stands shyly, peering over to me. "I'm Peeta. What's your name?"

"Katniss."

* * *

 **A/C: First chapter! Woo hoo! Please review, favourite and follow! I hope you're enjoying it so far.**


	2. Passion

**A/C: Just a heads-up - Gale's father is still alive.**

 **All property belongs to its rightful owners.**

* * *

 **PPOV**

"Katniss!"

A well-dressed, stern looking woman stomps towards us. She is leading two men and another woman behind her, who all seem to be concerned. As they come closer, I realize who one of the men is. It's the same man Katniss was holding hands with earlier today. Probably her husband. So I shift to my side, placing a few feet between us. What must they think of us? We are all alone, in the dark, looking very frazzled...

I immediately blush.

The woman comes towards Katniss, and she jabs her into the arm with her finger. "What are you doing?" she exclaims. She eyes her messy hair, and the blush forming on her cheeks. They must have seen Katniss on top of me. "I was worried sick! I had no idea where you were, and you missed -", the older woman peers over to me, and narrows her eyes. She points at me, and sneers, "Who are _you_?"

Katniss' husband menacingly comes closer, eyeing me like prey. "Why are you here?" he asks lowly.

Gulping the lump forming in my throat, I avoid his gaze. I'm pretty sure Katniss would not appreciate if I told them she attempted to commit suicide.. I decide it would be better to keep the secret between us. "Oh, this sweet lady here was out looking at the stars. She seemed to be distracted, and tripped over the railings. I was merely minding my own business but then I heard a scream, so I quickly pulled her back onto the ship," I explain. The taller man narrows his dark eyes at me, clearly not believing me.

He turns to Katniss, and asks slowly, "Is that true?"

She shifts awkwardly, but nods quickly. "Why, yes Gale. I was not feeling too well, so I came up here to get some fresh air."

The other man and woman come forward, sparing each other a few glances. But then, the white-haired, bellied man gives me a grin. "Well, that calls for a celebration. You are a hero, young lad."

The other woman nudges Katniss' husband in the shoulder, and whispers something in his ear. I can only assume that she is Gale's mother. He scowls in return, and sticks his hand into his pocket and rummages for something. He takes out a few wads of cash and thrusts them forward. " _Here,_ " he says with a sneer. "For your service."

I shake my head, trying not to seem eager to see all that money. That is more cash than all the fortune I have together. But I don't want to seem so desperate, and quite honestly I do not commit good acts to receive appreciation or awards. "No, kind sir. I cannot take this."

The Gale's mother laughs heartily. "Alright, no problem then. How about we invite you for a dinner? Tomorrow, at 8?"

I glance at Katniss, but she avoids my gaze. I pause for a moment, but then I respond, "Sure."

"Well, that settles it!" the man, who is most probably Gale's father, says with a grin. "We'll see you then."

The couple walk away, chattering about something nonsensical. Katniss and her mother leave next, but they do not spare me a look. I wonder how Katniss is feeling about me attending their dinner tomorrow. But it shouldn't matter, because it is clear she has no interest in me. She is married. But why did she want to kill herself? What could have motivated her to believe that taking her own life is the only option? As I watch the mysterious girl leave, I know she will be the death of me.

I did not realize that Katniss' husband was behind me the entire time, until he grabs my arm. He gives me a threatening look and says, "I have my eye on you, kid." He then leaves without a word.

...

"Where were you?" Finnick immediately asks as I enter our room. He is wearing an old under-shirt with sleeping pants, hair sticking in different places. I smirk as I pat down a tuft of hair in the centre of his head. He swats my hand away, and fixes it himself. I smile. Finnick has always been a joker, even when he intends not to be. He has a way of lighting up a room that nobody else can do. His very presence makes big pills a bit easier to swallow.

We met a few years back, and we have been inseparable since. I lost my family years ago when our bakery was engulfed in flames. I was out at the time, and I returned home to find the dead corpses of my mother, father, and two brothers. Broke and lost, I left the city and never turned back. I didn't want to be around anything that reminded me of the past. I decided to move on, and live life to the fullest. I travelled all of Europe, living my dream of painting and drawing architecture, portraits and sceneries. But one night, I stumbled upon an old bar. Finnick worked there, and we began talking. We chatted for hours about our dreams of going to America, and how we believe we can become into successful artists and make a living. With this common goal, we began working together.

I point to the roof, nodding my head. "What were you doing up there?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "Admiring more girls from afar?"

Snorting, I reply, "No, not quite." I settle myself on the bed, and lay my head on the pillow. "Just enjoying the moment."

"I see," he murmurs. "So, New York, huh?"

"They say the city never sleeps," I tell him wistfully. I close my eyes, imagining that I have my own art collection that is admired by people around the world. I'd be a successful artist, having my name in art's history. I would make a lasting impression for generations and generations to come. I grin, realizing that this dream could become into a reality. In a few day's time, we will land in New York.

"Well, _I_ need to sleep," he says, closing the lights. "Don't be up and drawing again. I can't stand the constant light pouring on my face when I'm trying to sleep."

I smile mischievously a few minutes later, when I hear Finnick's snoring. Although I pride myself as a loyal man, I am not one to give up my desires. So I turn on the oil-lamp beside me, and I retrieve the notebook from the night stand. Grabbing one of the coals placed delicately inside, I allow myself to forget about the world. My hands move without my brain's consent, as if they have a mind of their own. I let my coal work itself on the rough papers, and only a few minutes later I realize what I've drawn.

Katniss.

She is standing in front of the rails, her hair loose and dress flowing. There's tears streaking down her face, her eyes reading helplessness and misery. It is night, but she is still radiant. She is shining brighter than the sun.

And then I turn to a fresh page. I draw the wavy hair, sharp cheekbones, bright eyes, and thin form. Except she is on top of me, and her cheeks are a rosy red. Her hands are on top of my chest, and I'm laughing.

I turn to another page. She's looking out to the moon, and her locks are flying behind her. She's standing on the edge of the ship, only holding on by a slight grip of her small hands. Her eyes are attentive, eyebrows drawn together in thought. There's a scowl on her face.

But I can't help to think how beautiful it is.

* * *

 **KPOV**

"Ouch," I mutter as Mother pulls on my corset quite roughly. It's such a pain to be wearing this all day long. My waist rarely has a break, except when I go to sleep (which is probably only 6 hours a day). I feel like a lose all my blood circulation during that time, but of course Mother doesn't care. Small waists are beautiful. They will enhance an hour-glass figure.

"Well, that's the most I can do," Mother says, frowning.

I look away, throwing on a white summer dress. I tie the sash around my waist, making a bow behind my back. "Katniss, try to get to know Gale. You are his fiancée after all," Mother says sternly. She seems to have forgotten about the last time we've spoken about the marriage. It had no effect on her. I really shouldn't be very surprised, I mean, it is very expected of her. Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I leave the room.

I enter the dining hall. There are servers surrounding the perimeters, and there are large buffet tables filled with all kinds of delicacies. Crepes, fruits, breads, eggs, bacon, pastries, croissants - you name it. My stomach growls immediately. Although Mother would give me a dirty look for doing so, I rush towards the buffet and stack all the food on my plate. I carefully walk towards a table, concerned that I may trip because of my stupid heels and I drop all my food. Once I settle myself on the chair, I begin stuffing my face with food. Smiling internally, I realize this may be the only way I can rebel against my mother's wishes.

"Well, well, well," a man with a slurred voice says. A shaggy, dirty-blond haired man with cloudy eyes sets himself on the chair beside me. There is a bottle of vodka in his hand. He is clearly intoxicated. "Sweetheart, what are you doing here by yourself?" He takes a swig from the bottle, and slams it down on the table. I swear everybody's eyes are on us now.

I shake my head. Clearing my throat, I say, "I'm eating, Haymitch." This stupid drunkard is a wealthy businessman, who was friends with my father while he was still alive. I always wonder why Father would ever choose to have this man's company, especially since he's drunk most of the time. He is always nonsensical, rude, and obnoxious. But quite frankly, I rather speak to him compared to my mother.

He pokes my arm, and guffaws, "A skinny girl like you can eat all that?" He motions towards me piled plate, and I scowl.

"A drunkard like you is still alive?" I retort.

He smirks. "This girl got some spunk!" He immediately stands up from his chair, sending it toppling over on the ground. He points towards a table with a bunch of people, and yells, "More than you!" He staggers forward, and points to another family, "More than all of you!" I sink in my chair as he falls face forward, unconscious.

A few workers rush over to him, and pull him to his feet. He vomits. They whisk him out of the hall, away from everybody's view.

I turn my head slightly, and I find Gale walking towards me. He is wearing a thick blazer and grey, ironed pants. He gives me a small wave, and I lift my hand awkwardly. "Did you see that?" he asks, sitting on the chair opposite to me. I nod my head, focussing my attention on a strawberry on my plate. "His liver is probably destroyed by now," he mutters, shaking his head. "I don't know how he earned all that fortune. Probably by luck." Ironically enough, Gale is the one who is only wealthy by his father's business. He will inherit the business in a few years. He was born in wealth, and will die in wealth. He begins speaking about how some server dropped a splotch of jam on his new shoes, and I tune him out. Prior to meeting Gale, I expected to be single. I didn't want to marry, I never did. I wanted to be independent, live my own life. I didn't want to be the stereotypical obedient, boring housewife, whose only purpose is to look good and show off. Jewellery, shoes, and clothes do not amaze me. Dad raised me to believe life has meaning beyond shallow, materialistic things. He instilled that in us at a young age. However, I cannot say the same for my mother. She always had an eye for fortune and status, but she was better at hiding it while Father was still alive.

"What was that boy doing last night?" he suddenly asks.

I look up. "I don't know. Like I told you, I tripped and he helped me back onto the ship." I begin blushing, remembering Peeta's arms on me when he pulled me from the railings.

He knits his eyebrows. "I saw you on top of him," he says carefully.

"I _fell_ on top of him, Gale," I explain exasperatedly. "I slipped because the metal railings were so wet. He was just some boy who helped me when I was trouble."

He sets his jaw."I do not trust the likes of him. Who knows what his intentions were before I intervened?"

I recall his warm smile, bright eyes, and kind words. _If you jump, I jump,_ he said. Peeta seemed so kind and honest, I couldn't imagine him having any ill intentions. "No." I shake my head. "They are not all the same, Gale."

"Of course they are!" he snaps, leaning towards me. "You have not seen the world like I have, Katniss!"

This is why I don't want to marry Gale. He always believes that I am inferior to him, dumb and needing to be cared for. He thinks that he is superior compared to anyone and everyone. He is narrow-minded, greedy, and downright rude. "No, I don't think _you_ have," I say. I get up from my seat, and stalk out of the dining hall. I need to get out of here, I need fresh air. I can't stand the stuffy rooms anymore, the constant tension and stress. Rushing up the steps, I reach the deck. I inhale deeply, taking in the salty air. It's quite chilly, but I don't mind too much. Anywhere is better than Gale's company.

The air is knocked out of my lungs when I smash into something rigid. My head begins to hurt, and I squeeze my eyes tightly.

"We always seem to meet under the worst circumstances," someone says with a light chuckle. I open my eyes, still dizzy from the sudden impact. Ashy, blond hair mopped over the forehead, and blue eyes are wide with amusement. Peeta. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I murmur. It's already embarrassing enough reminding myself of the events of last night. I don't want to see the perpetrator again. No matter how kind and attractive he may be. So I push him aside, but then he takes my arm.

"Wait!" he says. "Katniss."

I turn my head sharply. "What?"

He backs up to the a wall, and leans against it. He smiles crookedly, and dimples form in his cheeks. "Well, I thought we should start off on the right foot. We are on this ship for awhile, it would be nice to make some new friends." He runs his hands through his curly hair, and looks at me expectantly.

"I think not," I say, scowling. Crossing my arms over my chest, I look out to the seagulls flocking above our ship.

"Why not?" he asks cheekily. "I think we would make a fine duo. And you seem like a very interesting person."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Okay, I get it," I snap. "You must find it quite funny seeing a poor little rich girl attempting to take her life. It is, isn't it? I mean-"

"No, that's not what I think at all," he interrupts, locking his eyes with my own. He stares at me intently, and shakes his head. "I think this girl must be in such a terrible situation that she believes the only way out is by taking her own life. And I don't find it funny at all. I find it devastating."

I shift nervously on my feet. I don't like pity. I hate it. I received a lot of it when they died, and it didn't make things any better. There's no point in feeling bad for others, I don't need to be looked down upon. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!

But then he continues. "I lost my family in a fire a couple years back," he explains. "I cannot tell you how many times I wanted to escape it all. I tried drinking away the pain, but it didn't work. I felt more empty inside. But then I found what I'm passionate about. It made life a lot more worth living." I trail my eyes on the small notepad he is holding against his waist, and he smiles sombrely when I meet eyes with him again. I see the pain. I am no stranger of losing those I love.

"I lost my father and sister," I blurt. "Now my mother is forcing me to marry someone." I clamp my mouth with both my hands, immediately feeling embarrassed for revealing such personal information.

Peeta looks as if he is in thought. Then, after a moment, he asks, "Do you love him?"

I look to my shoes.

"Well, do you?" he says.

Biting my lip, I reply, "No."

I refrain from looking at him, but then he laughs softly. "Well, you got that figured out,' he says. "So the answer is simple - don't marry him."

"It's not that simple!" I snarl. "My mother is forcing me to, or else I'll be disowned."

He shakes his head. "No one is in control of your life except you. If you don't want to marry him - don't."

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this," I say irritably. I turn my back, and then spit, "I'm not talking to you. Goodbye."

In the corner of my eye, I see him crossing his arms with an amused expression on his face. "Okay, why are you still talking to me?"

I scowl. "I'm not!"

"You're still talking," he says with a smirk.

"You're ridiculous!" I throw my arms in the air, and sigh heavily. "Why am I still in your company, anyway?"

"You're telling me."

With my cheeks flushing, I do the first thing that comes into my mind. I pull the notebook from his arm, and mutter, "Why are you always carrying this around, anyway?" I open it, and it reveals a sketch of a garden. It is in amazing detail, almost as if it were a real life photo. Peeta follows me as I turn the pages, all revealing astounding landscapes and portraits. "It is actually quite good." I run my fingertips over a sketch of a rose, and I ask, "Is this your passion?"

I look up, and I find him watching me carefully. He nods his head slightly. "Yeah."

I return the notebook into his arms, and I peer over to him shyly. "I wish I could find mine."

"Well, what do you like?" he asks.

"Not much," I reply quietly. "I don't have many hobbies." I walk towards him, and lean against the wall with him. "But I love nature." He quirks his eyebrow, so I continue, "We used to live in this old cottage in the woods. My father and I would go hunting together."

Peeta laughs, "I never took you as a huntress."

"Why?" I dead-panned.

He scans my appearance. "Well, I thought you'd be interested in dresses and such. Not rolling around in animal's blood and getting dirty."

I nudge him. "You got me all wrong, then. I could kick your ass. Big time." I begin walking away, but then he catches up to me.

Walking side by side, he replies, "You're really interesting, Ms. Everdeen. I never heard a girl say that."

"Get used to it," I mutter.

Loud music begins to play. Large groups of people enter the deck, and I immediately feel claustrophobic. I scan the area, and I find my mother and a few of her friends on the other side of the ship. I think Peeta senses my nervousness, so he suggests, "Wanna get out of here?"

* * *

 **A/C: Please review, favourite, and follow!**


	3. Making it Count

_\- Present -_

She is disappointed when she awakes.

Katniss dreamt of him again. It was the time she met him, when he saved her from jumping. She remembered the loneliness and helplessness that ached her insides, and how her body moved on impulse rather than reason. Oh, how embarrassed she had been back then. But now, it makes her smile of the memory. How couldn't she? For every crisis, there always had been a silver lining. Even when she hadn't noticed it at that time.

"Mrs. Mellark!" a sing-song voice calls. A loud knock raps the door, which automatically brings Katniss back to reality.

"Come in, my dear," she calls tiredly.

The pretty, petite young woman steps in. She has a glowing smile, her face bright with happiness. A large trolley is rolled in along with her. On top of it reveals a large tray, full of food and her daily medications. "Good morning, Mrs. Mellark. Did you sleep well?" the girl asks.

She nods her head wearily "Yes, Rue," she replies. Rue assembles the bed tray and places it over Katniss' body. She places the hot oatmeal on top, along with a cut apple and a glass of water. She sets her pills on the night stand.

Katniss notices Rue has a constant, silly smile on her face. It's not that Rue isn't always in a good mood - she _always_ is - but there is something quite different about her today. Then it finally hits her. "Did he propose?"

Rue instantly lights up. "Oh, Mrs. Mellark!" she slumps into the chair in front of her bed, bringing her hands to her face as she giggles. "Last night we went on a date to Greasy Sae's restaurant. I thought it'd be just another meet-up, but there was something quite different about him. He seemed so distracted, but I didn't expect him to go on his knee and pull out a ring!" She squeals, and thrusts her hand forward. And there, Katniss sees it. A small, exquisite diamond placed carefully on a silver band. "So I said yes! I knew we would get married eventually, but I've been so impatient that I thought he wouldn't be committed."

The old woman shakes her head vigorously as she spoons a bit of oatmeal in her mouth."Of course not, Rue. He loves you." And who wouldn't? Katniss often finds Rue in Prim, her late younger sister. She had died 83 years ago, but the death hasn't been off her mind since. Anyway, Rue is kind, generous, optimistic, and quite likeable. She knows how to strike up a conversation and engage even the most passive people (Katniss would know, of course). Sometimes, Katniss thinks that Rue is her little sister. But the rational part of her mind tells her that she is more likely to be her great grand-daughter than her sibling.

"Yes, he does," Rue says with a grin. Rue's eyes suddenly flit over to her night-stand, clearly glancing the painting Peeta once made for her. Then, she avoids eye-contact with Katniss, scanning the ground instead.

This annoys Katniss. After the Titanic, she sunk into a depression for a month. But one day, she woke up to realize that this wasn't Peeta would've wanted. He would've wanted her to move on. She remembered the promise she made, and strived to keep it. "Thresh might love you as much as Peeta loved me," Katniss whispers.

Rue slowly meets her eyes, which reveals only pity. Katniss told the story of the Titanic to Rue once, and she was clearly heartbroken. But she was also very moved, and she began to dream of having someone who loved her as much Peeta loved Katniss. She always promised her that the right person will come along.

"How did you realize you loved him?" she asks curiously. "I mean, I love Thresh and he loves me, but I always-"

Katniss lifts up her hand, silencing Rue from her rambling. She gives her a smile. And then, she tells her.

* * *

 _\- 83 years ago -_

Peeta takes my hand, and leads me away from the deck. I follow him down the steps as discreetly as possible, praying that neither my mother nor Gale caught sight of us. "Where are you taking me?" I ask, frowning.

He gives me boyish smile. "I want to show you something." His vagueness makes me roll my eyes.

We have to walk three flights of stairs to reach the third-class quarters. As soon as I step foot into the atrium, my heartbeat stops. I scan the parameters, noting the tired looking mothers juggling their children, the skinny men hobbling with their luggage. No one seems to be enjoying their trip on the Titanic so far. Three floors above, you will find women with exquisite dresses sipping their teas, and men in fine coats taking a smoke. They, and myself included, know the easy life. These people only know struggle and hardship. My heart clenches as I find a far too thin girl wrapping her arms protectively around her little brother. "Come on, Katniss," Peeta says. I suddenly meet eyes with him, and it seems he has been watching me the whole time. I'm suddenly paranoid he can read my thoughts.

"Peeta, I don't think this is a good idea," I murmur. "I don't belong here."

The blond-haired boy turns to face me, and he has a quizzical expression on his face. And that's when I realize how awful I just sounded. "No!" I blurt. "I don't meet it like that. I don't care about wealth or status or anything like that. I'm not like my mother."I take a deep breath, and twirl the ends of my hair with my fingers. "I just-just... I don't know, I don't want to ...offend, no -"

Peeta gives me a small smile and a shake of his head. "If you don't care, they won't care. Over here, nobody pays attention about that kind of stuff." He's right. Only people like Mother and Gale do. These people have their own lives to worry about, not concerning themselves with meaningless gossip. "I know you're not superficial."

I knit my eyebrows. Although Peeta is right, I am curious where he got this assumption from. "How would you know that? I've only met you yesterday."

"Clearly, the wealth in your life does not make you happy," he says factually. "I think you're looking for a purpose beyond society's expectations are for you." His words reveal intelligence and wisdom, something I rarely ever see in anybody. He seems he has matured beyond his years. After, he gives me a cheeky smile and says, "Come, I'll show you my room."

My face is blushing by the time we reach the door. I can admit that nobody has given a second glance towards me, but that is not what's bugging me. Peeta twists the door open, and leads me inside. The room is small, but cozy. There is a bunk on each side of the room, with limp pillows and thin blankets. There are wooden night-stands on each side, along with a small desk and a chair in the centre. There are worn-out, leather suitcases leaning on the walls. "Why did you take me here?" I ask softly, avoiding his gaze. I try not to compare my own living quarters to his.

"Well," he begins, suddenly flopping down onto his mattress. He runs his fingers through his coarse curls, and continues, "I wanted to get out of there, and it seemed you did too. Don't get me wrong, I love watching the ocean. But constantly surrounded by people? Not so much. I think everyone needs some time on their own."

I nod my head. He clearly has a way with words. He can express the most difficult subjects with such eloquence and confidence, and it often leads me at awe of how he seems to touch everyone's hearts without even intending to. With every passing moment, I find myself becoming more and more interested in the boy. "But you're not by yourself. I'm here," I manage out.

His eyes twinkle when he sits upright. "Yes, but I feel like I can be by myself when I'm with you." I am stunned by his words, and I can sense that he can see it too. "I think I came off too strong."

"No kidding," I mutter, instantly looking away from him. Instead, I peer into the small window that reveals the sea.

He pats his mattress, beckoning me to sit with him. I carefully make my way towards him, and sit on the opposite end. I need to preserve my modesty. I mean how odd must it seem that a young man and woman are in a room by themselves? What assumptions might be made about us? My heart begins thudding against my chest, and I am filled with this overwhelming anxiety. I should get out of here. "Wait, I forgot to show you it to you," Peeta suddenly declares. He jumps off the bed, and swipes the notebook from the desk. He opens it, and flips a few pages to the end. Then, he thrusts it forward, with a shy gleam in his eye. I take it, and I absorb the image in front of me.

A dandelion.

It is coloured with oil paints, beautiful shades of yellow and orange. The petals are small, delicate, and intricate. They may be bent, twisted and turned. It's imperfect. But it's beautiful. "It's nice,"I finally say. The painting is far more than "nice", but that word was all I could manage out. But he gives me a shy look, and mumbles a thank-you.

"You can keep it," he says when I return the painting to him.

I shake my head. "It's yours. You took the time to make it."

He lifts his hands, motioning me to keep it. "Well, consider it as a gift from a friend."

Every person around me can admit that I'm the most stubborn person they know, but I like to call myself persistent. And curious. "Why are you giving me this?" I ask timidly.

"I had a feeling you might need it," he says. I knit my eyebrows, but then he continues, "Hope." And that one word removes myself from the present. It takes me back to the time Father and I used to hunt in the woods. The winters were harsh and cold, and our family longed for March to arrive. And when it did, our moods instantly lit up. In early spring, dandelions would scatter across a meadow. He would pluck out the dandelions from the roots and stash them into a basket. Prim and I would play in them, making bracelets and necklaces. These days were the fondest memories of my childhood.

I don't know what overcomes me, but I fold the picture neatly into quarters and stash it into my coat's pocket.

...

PPOV

"I'll see you tonight, Peeta," Katniss says with a small smile. I grin at her back, and I open the door for her to exit.

Once the door snaps shut, I can finally breathe. "She didn't see it," I murmur to myself. I run my hand through my hair and sigh in relief. I don't know what she'd do if she saw that sketch of her. She would probably run so fast I wouldn't have the time to blink! I could never live with the fact that I blew it with such a beautiful girl.

Then, the door opens again. "Who's she?" Finnick asks loudly, waggling his eyebrows. He stands at the threshold, leaning against the frame. He has that stupid glint in his eye, and I have to turn my head to conceal the fact I'm blushing.

"Who?" I ask nonchalantly as I turn the pages of my sketchbook.

Finnick settles himself on the chair. "You know...grey eyes, black hair, rich girl. Pretty."

"Get outta here, Finn," I mutter. I slam the book shut, and I whirl around to face him. "Shouldn't you be flirting with random girls right now?"

He guffaws. "Nah. All 'em girls are too shy to spare a glance at me," he says before pausing. "So are you gonna tell me 'bout or her or what?"

I shift my sketchbook away from his view. "What do you want me to say?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe you can tell me why she was in your room?" he snorts, rolling his eyes.

Sighing exasperatedly, I decide to tell him. I begin with the lie of her accidentally falling over the rails, and my heroic moment when I save her. I explain the dinner invitation I received, and how I wanted to speak to Katniss again so I invited her here. All the while, Finnick is stroking his chin thoughtfully, clearly absorbing every word I utter. A moment passes, and gets up from the chair. He walks to the other side of the room, where he rummages through his bag. Then, he reveals a pair of dress pants and a button-down shirt. It is probably the only formal clothing he owns. "They may be a bit long for you, since I am taller. It's all I got, Peet, but hopefully it'll do," he says, placing the clothes on the bed.

I shake my head. "You don't have to, Finn," I tell him, gazing at the clothing that is worth more than all my valuables together.

"Well, you can't really go to a top-class dinner party wearing 'em rags," he says, eyeing my current outfit. "Just don't spill any gravy on the shirt. It's the last decent looking top I own after moving out." I nod my head, feeling the texture of the shirt. Good quality. These clothes were the ones Finnick wore back when he lived with his parents. His family was insanely rich, but Finnick was not one to be swayed by all the glamour. His parents were overbearing, and they refused to support his dreams to act. He finally had enough, so he left his home and never looked back.

"Thanks, Finn," I say.

"Don't blow it over, you shithead. You better woo that sweetheart by the time you return," he responds, clamping his hand on my shoulder.

...

Ironed shirt and pants. Shiny dress shoes. Hair slicked back. Face clean shaven. And the watch Father gave me.

I'm ready.

Finnick slaps my back when I leave. My hands are shaking, and I bite down my lip like I always do when I'm nervous. Why did I even agree to attend, anyway? I will stick out like a sore thumb. However, I still step into the elevator and ask the worker to take me to the highest floor. "I'm invited," I mutter when he scans my appearance with a frown. I avoid eye contact with him as I'm taken to the first-class quarters.

"Good luck," he says quietly. I turn around swiftly, finally glancing at the orange-haired, slender man before me. For a fleeting moment I wonder if he knows why I am here. I shake my head. Who cares? I nod my head in thanks, leaving the elevator before it snaps shut.

I'm not worthy of standing on these carpets. They are lush and luxurious, probably made with finest materials money can buy. I tilt my head up, taking note of the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Then, I stare out before me. Leather couches, glass tables, marble fireplaces, and an old grandfather clock. There are men in fine suits and women wearing expensive dresses scattered in the atrium. A few of them pause their conversations to glance at me. Blood rushes to my cheeks. I turn on my heel, getting ready to leave this stupid place.

"Oh, it's Mr. Mellark!" Mr. Hawthorne calls. He grins as he walks over to me, with his wife and son trailing behind him. "How are you doing, my boy?" As we are shaking hands, I am praying that he doesn't feel the sweat pouring from my skin.

Eventually, Gale comes to greet me. "Looking better today, I see," he murmurs. I nod my head, forcing a smile to seem polite.

"Well, aren't you looking handsome?" Mrs. Mellark says, scanning my appearance. "Why, you could pass as a first-class nobleman!" I oddly stretch my mouth as she and her husband laugh. "My, it's almost dinner. Come to the dining hall. I suppose the Everdeens are waiting for us there."

My heart rate immediately rises. Katniss. I wonder what she'll think of my outfit? Will she feel odd with me having dinner with them? How should I greet her? What do I -

"Mr. Mellark! Come along now!" Mr. Hawthorne calls, gesturing me to follow him. I take a deep breath, bracing myself to enter the dining hall with them.

...

I shift awkwardly in my dress. It's insanely tight along the waist, squeezing my insides to give the illusion of an hour-glass figure. And the skirt is thick and poofy, and I'm afraid I may trip with every step that I take. I hate it. Father used to allow me to wear trousers and shirts, but after he died Mother demanded I wear dresses at all times. But pants are so much more practical and comfortable, and it seems unfair only men are "allowed" to wear them. I almost envy them.

I settle myself on a chair. Like a good noblewoman would, I place a napkin over my skirt. I turn to my mother, who nods approvingly before returning her gaze back to the women she is speaking to. "Caleb and his wife insisted they invite Mr. Mellark for dinner," I hear Mother say.

"Who is Mr. Mellark?" Mrs. Cartwright asks.

Mother scowls in disgust as she replies, "A lower-class boy. He apparently saved Katniss when she almost fell from the ship. The Hawthornes thought he deserved a dinner with us in payment for his service."

"That is quite thoughtful of them," she says, nodding her head towards me.

Moments later, I see the Hawthornes enter. And Peeta.

I almost don't recognize him. His curly blond hair is slicked back, his face washed of all dirt and sweat. His worn-out pants and flannel shirt is replaced by a suit. Instead of his hiking boots, shiny black shoes are on his feet. I have to admit he is quite handsome. Surely, his clothes are looking cheap in comparison compared to the others, but that doesn't make him look less attractive. His jaw is prominent, cheekbones risen high, along with those bright blue eyes mirroring my own. I find myself grinning in his direction, but I instantly stop when Gale comes to sit next to me.

"Hello, Katniss," he says.

"Hi," I respond.

Gale raises his eyebrow, probably noting my distraction. "How are you?" he asks carefully.

I tell him I'm faring well, and I leave it at that. Instead, I decide to greet Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne. I make a point to linger with them a bit longer before greeting Peeta. But, after it seems plainly obvious that I'm avoiding him, I decide to say hello. He responds quietly, but his eyes are sparkling. I suddenly want to tell him how nice he looks, and how I've been waiting all day to see him. However, that is not appropriate because I'm an engaged, upper-class woman. So I remain silent.

"My friends, this is Mr. Peeta Mellark," Mr. Hawthorne introduces to the rest of people on the table. "This gentlemen saved our dear Katniss yesterday, so he is here today to join us for dinner as our token of thanks."

I exchange a look with Peeta, who is sitting right in front of me. He seems surprisingly calm and relaxed. "I very much appreciate this invitation to spend the evening with you fine people."

Suddenly, one of Mother friends pipe up. Oh, that damned Effie Trinket. The eccentric woman who wears far too colourful clothing and wigs, who seems to have make-up infused into her skin all day, every day. "What a charming young lad!" she swoons. "Do you have a lady yet?"

"Not as of late, Miss," he says as he takes a sip of the wine served by the servers.

"My, my! Surely there are a lot of pretty girls in your village, yes?" Trinket asks. I almost burst out laughing that Trinket expects Peeta to be lving in a rural farm area just because he is lower-class. However, I stifle my laughter, and I bring a glass of water to my mouth to hide my lips.

Peeta doesn't miss a beat. "Well, I'm travelling right now so I haven't settled down yet."

"Haven't your parents arranged anything for you?" Gale suddenly asks. I turn my head to face him, taking note of his furrowed eyebrows and frown on his lips. Of course Gale would expect Peeta's parents to do everything for Peeta, because that's what Gale's parents did for Gale.

"They have passed, unfortunately," he says before clearing his throat. Conversation over.

After a while, the servers set a roasted chicken, lamb stew with dried plums, rice, salads, pasta, and dinner rolls. We dive right into the meal, avoiding any conversation so we can focus on the food. But then I look up, and I find Peeta staring right at me. I swallow the piece of chicken down my throat, and swiftly remove any crumbs from my mouth. Peeta smiles, discreetly tapping the corner of his lip. I quickly brush off the crumb. "So, how are the living quarters like in your class?" my mother suddenly asks.

I scowl. That is not very appropriate for a dinner conversation, but of course she wouldn't care about manners towards lower-class individuals. "It is simple, practical. It is not very luxurious, but we have what we need," he responds with a smile. Then, he pauses as if he is deciding whether or not to continue. He does. "As long as we have our necessities, we are happy. We believe in making our lives count through experiences. That is why my friend and I are going to New York to chase our dreams."

For a moment, the table stills. But then, Mr. Hawthorne raises his glass in toasting. "To making it count."

We cling our glasses. I cling mine with Gale, and I notice that look in his eye. Once he settles his glass down, he grabs my hand possessively. He brings our entwined hands onto of the table, in Peeta's full view. Gale is screaming jealousy.

After desert is served, Gale excuses himself. Peeta suddenly gets up himself, telling everyone he needs a moment in the restroom. When he returns, he passes my seat. He drops a napkin on my lap, without a word. He then settles himself back on the chair, giving me a knowing look. While the rest of guests are finishing their deserts, I take the opportunity to take a glance at the napkin.

 _To making it count._

 _Meet me at the clock at 9:30_

The words are printed carefully and neatly. I instantly know where he's talking about. All of the sudden, Peeta kicks my foot. I glance up, and he grins. I kick him back, scowling. But I still nod.

Let's get the hell out of here.

I take note it's 9:15. Gale returns to my side, and I quickly crumble the napkin into my fist. After the conversation slowly dies down, Peeta bids a goodbye. "Thank you for the wonderful dinner. It was a divine evening," Peeta says, dipping his head in appreciation.

Mrs. Hawthornes laughs. "Oh, the pleasure is ours, Mr. Mellark. Your presence made this evening very enjoyable," she says. The conversation resumes on the table, and Peeta gets up to leave. He gives me a wink as he passes me, and I have to pretend as if I didn't notice. But as the clock almost strikes half past 9, I say goodnight to the guests. I blame my tiredness of the day, and they all nod their heads knowingly. Gale suddenly asks if he should he take me to my room, but I quickly refuse. I tell him I'll see in the morning, which causes him to relax. Slightly.

And he's there. Exactly where I thought he would be. In front of the grandfather clock, waiting for the big hand to reach the 30. I climb up the steps, and I tap him lightly on the shoulder. "Have you been waiting for me?" I ask teasingly.

He turns around with a lazy grin on his face. "No, just another dark-haired, silver-eyed beauty."

I'm pretty sure that wine has a taken a toll on me, because then I burst out giggling. "Yeah, all right. So tell me, Peeta, why are busting me out of the dinner party?"

"Because I wanna take you to a better party," he replies mischievously.

I don't know why, but I've decided I'll go wherever he's going. So, I let the words slip out my mouth."Well, let's make it count."


End file.
